the pieces of my varied, colorful, beautifully blessed, if not a bit un~raveled and tired: Life

The Mommy Journal

02/25/2013

Its been a flashback, retro, "oh my gosh I remember that!"...kinda Winter.

Warm memories, like this torn antique quilt, have been keeping me warm and soothed during a long sickly Northeastern winter.

It all started when for Christmas I bought Mr.MS the Atari flashback plug-in console. Though it took us over a month to break it out, for the extremely pathetic reason that we kept forgetting to buy triple A batteries.{Really, nothing else we own requires triple A, and therefore we could not do the "swipe and insert" like we do with most electronics we want to use NOW}.

Once we did however, it was such a grin-wide and shake-your-head HOOT to hear the girls yell out "KILL THE SPIDER, KILL THE SPIDER!" to Centipede the way we used to scream during the long boring winter in the late 80s of my childhood.

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We stopped being so dang cheap and went back to getting the Netflix DVD- in the mail option. Our first DVD sent via mail to our porch mailbox:

Willow.

Remember Val Kilmer in that one? We were obsessed with that movie growing up. The little ones could not get over the fact that midgets were real people! Our favorite scene is still when Val Kilmer dresses up as a woman to evade a jealous irate husband, and when the husband busts in and takes a look at him dressed up with a stuffed dress, asks leeringly,

"wanna breed?"

Val replies in a horrible fake woman voice:

"temptiinng...but no"

The next 2 DVD's scheduled to ship out:

The Eewok Adventure & Jurassic Park {the first movie my younger brother and I were allowed to watch by ourselves in the movie theater while my Mom went grocery shopping}.

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We are not totally vegging the Winter away with video games and movies.

There are books and music.

In the book corner:

I am so giddy and nostalgic over the second girl absolutely loving The American Girl series. I was first introduced to the book series in 1989, which I believe, was near the initial release of the first books and of course exorbitantly priced dolls and accessories.

Remember Kirsten, Samantha, and Molly?

I was team Samantha.

She also dabbles in Sweet Vally Twins.

Which I devoured in the late 80s and probably a trifle too long into the 90s.

And in the song corner.

Elvis.

I am not combing through the zillion images of him on google cuz I know you all know what he looks like.

It came to my attention last week that the only perception they had of Elvis Presley was from an animated spoof based on him from Veggie Tales! I could not let that one lie. So I youtubed "Jail House Rock" in technicolor. The same girl who is bringing back the retro girl books found out there is an Elvis Presley channel on our XM and programmed it in, and listens to it all the time! When her sister's friend was riding with us she asked if she knew who "Presley was" {its so cute...instead of referring to him as "Elvis" liked everyone else she simple says "Presley"...I don't know why but I don't want her to stop, so I don't say anything}.

I now can't get "Suspicious Minds" out of my mind.

Singing along with The King, I realize that I totally love 1970s love ballads.

I forgot that I grew up listening to Elvis, Tom Jones, and Gary Puckett.

Or rather I grew up listening to my Dad sing them, which is why I know about two lines to like 100 hundred songs and no more, and those two lines, are often incorrect.

All this retro nostalgia reminds me so powerfully that it all those little passing things that make up a childhood. Atari and giant bowls of cereal on early Saturday mornings, renting a VCR...that's right I typed out V C R ...cuz that is how we did it, on Friday nights to watched a stack of VHS tapes that reached my knee, and knowing that if my father came home with the window of his old pickup truck rolled down whistling "Deliah" by Tom Jones, it was a good day at the construction site.

My parents were not trying to make "wonderful family moments that will shape and better your children" I am pretty sure.

I really do not possess a large bag of meaningful and deep experiences of bonding with either one of my parents.

We did not take many vacations.

We joined zero groups, clubs, sports, till high school.

But as a parent now, certain objects or events will trip the wire of memory; long forgotten, buried in the dust of a thousand memories, waiting to be kicked up like a layer of dust on an old sofa.

I remember coversations around kitchen tables, always, always with food.

I remember laughing.

I remember the freedom to escape for hours in fields and trees.

My parents were always there. Always available. Not always doing something or taking us somewhere {with express intent of bettering us, their children of course}.

We do not raise our own children exactly as they did.

Do I scratch my head, with my now adult eyes, as I peer back at some of my parents' parenting styles and decisions?

Yep.

It just seems parents today are so worried.

Are heavily buried, and teetering over with too much information, geared too much toward accomplishing. What they are told they should accomplish is a perfect kid. Depending on your own social standing, ethnicity, religious beliefs, or what tax bracket you fall in, it's a constant niggling poking a parent's side.A faint but persistent whisper of:

" Do A, B, & C and your kid will be a 1, 2, or 3, or at least decrease the chances of being one of those X,Y, and Zs"

It's everyday, it's constant, it's humbling, it's full of " I've blown it again" but it will simplify your life, and give needed clarity at the needed time, for that needy family member, just when they need it.

Those big moments are never what you expect. You never see them coming, and they will never be able to be duplicated.

02/21/2013

It was however via a text to Mr.MS and not, say, in the aisles of Best Buy.

The last two weeks have been filled with sickness of many shapes, forms, and sleep depriving sizes. A rotating assault of germs and bacteria. I am usually the one who feels it coming on one day, spends a day on the couch sucking down tea and Vitamin C and dayquil the next day, and then the following day, get on with my life. Not so, for much of the month of February.

February: my witching month every year. Every year I say to self- " don't plan anything in February, you're just gonna be sick"

Then every January when post- Christmas winter boredom sets in I ignore self and plan stuff.

Right smack in the middle of sickness our tax return came back {yay}

And our seven-year old computer starting dying {boo}

We purchased a new Dell, a new monitor, that came with a new operating system:

Windows 8

That's when the Biblical references of woe and vengeance started to spit out of my clenched teeth. With all the sickness Mr.MS just threw the new clean shiny PC up and slowly put old stuff back into new stuff over the course of a few days. I never had the time, energy, or non-fuzzy thinking capacity to get a real crash course on how "wonderful" and "intuitive" Windows 8 is.

Then I started to feel better.

Life starting to get back to normal, though I still had a big girl home sick and still not feeling the greatest, I simply could not lay down on the couch for another day.

Time to sit infront of that big bright shiny new monitor and speedy quick computer! Anyone who has Windows 8 knows it has all those tiles.(stupid tiles) I am told it works much like " a smart phone".

Which is grand unless you are among the few who think not paying a high monthly bill to have the internet in our pocket is"smart" and still have a tracphone.

Very outdated am I.

It was just a perfect storm of anger really:

Prolonged sickness and technology I can't figure out.

Throwing fuel to the flames...

Mr.MS set all the passwords and made them slightly different from the old ones by accident...oh the swearing.

I cannot stand being sick, get livid when I cannot figure out to make my computer do what I want it too, and start to foam at the mouth when my password gets changed.

But, I think we kicked the sickies to the curb, and I am blogging from the mac laptop (hence the stolen images from google).

I even went ahead and cancelled an already once re-scheduled get together with my husband's sisters and their husbands because I am just too tired.

The house is scary gross.

The laundry is scary Mt. Everest in size.

Our tax return still sits...oh so tantalizing in our joint checking account, and is bleeding out, the way a mad cash influx tends to do, because we have not had the time to sit and dole out the money to all those fun things like taxes and credit cards.

I decided to just have a great day with The Babe today.

She woke up and I swooped her up, still rubbing her scrunched up face surrounded by crazy snarly hair, and declared:

"I miss you! We are going to story time at the library and Wegmans Cafe today" (that being our local grocery store's cafe/restaurant/bakery, which we love).

I even have a yoga class tonight.

I even have a lunch date tomorrow with my MIL.

I even have a girl-y crafty over-nite next weekend.

I even have Mr.MS picking me up from said girly time to then drive directly to a B&B somewhere in the Pennsylvania NorthEastern mountains.

(as you can see I have a real hard time indulging myself)

So evil germs and evil computers, which bring out an evil me, aside;

I think, once again, I just might survive the month of February...then again it's not over.

11/28/2012

{The phrase "stay at home" having the immediate semantic associated in our modern culture as "doing nothing"}.

6:45 am garbage collector {I lost a bet to Mr.MS and don't want to talk about it}

7:00 am nutritionists/nurse {carefully making a smoothie high in Vitamin C, antioxidants, and acidophilus for Mr.MS, and then doling out the meds}

7:15am laundry wench {I piled 3 loads of daughter laundry on my bed yesterday; it was not put away by my children; and so was balled up and stuffed in several hampers last night before bed; to be hastily pulled out and thrown around my room by me and my daughters this morning. I tried to keep some semblance of order...and failed}

7:15-8:15am referee { 2 oldest girls are going through the lovely stage of fighting like mean ally cats the moment they are within spitting distance of each other. Now because they are female it does not involve overt physical violence, rather sneaky psychological verbal assault-either way I am forced to step between them, separate them, and administer warning flags and penalties}

7:30am nutritionist /nurse/cook { distribute breakfast for 4 children bearing in mind: 1 is lactose intolerant, one is orange juice intolerant (what is that called?) 2 need antibiotics, one needs herbal supplements, 2 need green tea} I still have not eaten

8:00am escort {walking my 1st grader the 3 freezing blocks to the bus stop without a hat or gloves and unzipped coat because I cannot not handle missing the bus again and we are running late}

8:15am accountant {the 2 oldest still at home inform me "oh yeah we have been charging our lunch for a while now". We pre-pay once a month. Of course I have hardly any cash on me and have to scrape some together while trying to figure out how much we owe, what they need today, and when I can get some further funds} I still have not eaten

8:25am taxi driver/referee {drive two oldest to school down the road...too cold to walk...to close for the state to pay to drive them to school for me...more fighting...more penalties...their allowance this week shall be a paltry amount. Just as well- we need the money, and I told them as much too}

8:35am sculley maid {tying to get 5 breakfasts picked up before my next hat off...

8:45am daycare provider {little boy I watch four days a week arrives. He, who is just staring to master walking, immediately falls down, hit his head, and wants his mom} I still have not eaten

9:15am events coordinator {working on catching up on emails about all the places and people and shopping and food and money involved this particular coming weekend; that is a birthday weekend for daughter 2 and only four weekends till Christmas...yeah throw in accountant again}

9:45am blogista

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Blessed are they that dwell in your house,

they will be still praising thee.

Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee:

in whose heart are the ways of them.

Who passing through the valley of Bacca

makes it a well;

the rain also filleth the pools.

THEY GO FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH,

I had rather be a doorkeeper

in the house of the Lord,

then dwell in the tents of wickedness.

For the Lord is a SUN & SHIELD

The Lord will give

GRACE & GLORY

Psalms 84: 4-7&10-11

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I desire to make this home saturated with His Spirit; making it a "house of the Lord"

I don't know exactly what "Valley of Bacca" means but I can assume it is not pleasant, it is not comfortable, it has the power to pull you down, cause amnesia of blessings; it is arid and zaps strength.

"Rain and pools": refreshment despite the valley. I need that. My family needs it from me when they burst into and live out their messy, real lives in this house; as I live out my own messy real life.

"A doorkeeper"- low man on the totem pole.

It's not enough to "stay home". As I mentioned at the top, yes, it has a negative association. Maybe it is just as well. Maybe it should. Maybe the catch phrase should remind us to stop having a martyr pity party for ourselves as we repeat in our minds:

"society does not get it"& "others do not appreciate"& "I go without for my children".

Get. Over. Yourself. Has been the mantra in my head, whispered from the Holy Spirit for the last year.

I am just a simple child of God doing my "reasonable service" {present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. Romans 12:1} . It's the same for all Christians regardless of gender, race, or tax bracket.{there is neither Greek nor Jew, bond nor free, male nor female, for ye are all one in Christ. Galatians 3:28} For all people of the human race:

To serve others, for the good of others. And you will in the process reap blessings unawares.

Because you are not alone, despite the lack on intelligent conversation most days.

"A Sun and Shield"

"Strength to Strength"

I love that.

Sustaining power and protection.

Unseen but real and powerful.

So, forget the titles.

Forget the cultural phrases.

Get a bigger hat rack.

Because as soon as you foolishly think you mastered skill, another need will frantically wave its hands in your face, and you will take a big breath and walk on.

Cheers.

{ps. I apologize for any misspelled words. Typepad's spell check is whacked out this morning and one hat I DO NOT posses is computer repairer}

I know my last post listed lots of going-ons we have experienced preventing me from doing what I love. From doing what I need.

I didn't lie or exaggerate. But here it is Thursday of a pretty low key, minimal amount of stress week: and I feel as if I am running from one incomplete task to another. No breaths between. No satisfaction of completion. No quiet spaces. No stepping out of the domestic for the creative.

Why? Why? Why? I ask myself.

Like a blockhead trying to reach for an object under clear ice, trying to warm herself in weak November rays.

Today taking care of this little guy, while warming up mushy noodles, searching for bibs, hoping I don't smell poop again, and hollering at the babe not to pull kittie's tail, I am getting frustrated that I still have not prepared for my lesson.

That's right- on the day I do not babysit I volunteer teaching at what is call Character Education. It's spiritual education for public school elementary aged children whose parents wish for that to be provided for their children.

As I type this out I am shaking my head-seeing it in black and white.

That is a lot.

On top of my pre-existing a lot.

I love it though.

I love providing a happy secure place for a tender forming toddler.

I love using cash and not plastic for all those unexpected things a family of six needs each week.

I love explaining to a small group of children that they are body, soul, andspirit. I let them talk, I make them laugh, and I tell them they have value, and that value comes from God. And Jesus really is who He said He was.

I do not love simply trying to get through and survive each day. Always running late, always falling behind; cringing when another person asks me something.

This morning while standing in the sun that was not warming me, but making feel better anyway I admitted in prayer I need tangible direction as to what needs to change.

A few answers are drifting down to my mind.

As a woman I do a host of things; preforming various acts for a sundry of persons. If I have to do all these things for all these people why do I think I can simply stride on alone?

Family is not singular.

Nor is it a one way street.

My responsibilities have increased. Good ones; that are bringing blessings. I should feel no guilt, but relief that I have a family that can work together to shoulder the responsibility, to lessen the burden, to increase the joy.

But that is not how woman, mothers in particular think, is it?

Well, it's how I am starting to think. {Mr. MS spotting the signs of fissures and cracks has been making himself more available already}. This newly declared familyphilosophy is one my girls had better quickly learn to embrace.

10/09/2012

Was gonna let is pass by, what with a houseful of girls {7 to be exact} in my home yesterday.

But then just few minutes ago, I found this typed out on my desktop...

All
of my rooms

hi
my name is lydia I am here because I wot to tell you about all of my
rooms. the 1st room is the den I am writing in the den in
the I den have the TV in the den. And now the living room my mom and
dad talk all the time in the living room on the couch now the
kitchen. In there it has 100 bit,s of food

and
my room is very clan room I love my rooms so much

I
LOVE MY

HOUSE.

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And I happened upon A Gift.

that made my heart swell like the most poetic of love letters.

She has been seeking out Microsoft word on the family PC more than webkinz, barbie, or utube.

She suddenly loves to write.

About her life.

The quiet one.

who prefers to fade to the back ground

who studies and thinks and daydreams

who daily transforms our deep backyard into

an epic adventure

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I am so blessed by this girl.

She was my only mid-wife birth {best experience by miles}.

She is my only baby I brought home from the hospital on a sunny warm day.

She is the only sister who can quietly tame "the beast" and by that I mean "the babe"; the 3-three old who is SO NOT a morning person.

Just this morning "the beast" starting screaming over something as life altering and horrible as her sister mentioning in passing "the desk".

"The Beast" naturally assumed she was on her way to set fire to her pre-k desk in the other room. (her current pride and joy).

05/04/2012

Swerving to the left and the right. Pulled in the extremes of real estate obligations, children who cannot stop injuring themselves, and some ungodly stomach/intestinal bug attacking the family that NO ONE wants to know the details of, I have felt close to crashing on the merciless pavement.

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It's the little things:

Not being able able to eat or drink anything for nearly three days makes me realize how much I LOVE TO EAT AND DRINK.

I grip a steaming cup of coffee, take a swirly milky brown sip, knowing my stomach will revolt. I so long for the comfort. I cast hungry glances at kitchen cupboards, desiring the comfort of salty pita chips cut with tangy salsa; despite that I am not actually hungry. I am hungry for the self-soothing comfort to hit my belly. And in the evening, I pour purple-red wine in our cheap wine glasses, hoping one sip will not erupt instant reflux {it does}.

Pathetic I know.

My lilac bush, boasting only about a dozen of its sweet smelling purple spikes, thanks to our schizophrenic spring sits untouched. No time or gumption to get a step stool and clip a few fragrant bouquets of my favorite flower.

Why?

My newly repainted, de-cluttered sewing room/studio still looks great. Mainly because I have not gone in there for a month. Keep saying I will slice away an hour here or there, but that hour slips away in exhaustion and/or cleaning.

Oh yes, the cleaning.

I knew it was coming.

Having your house on the market means one thing:

You have to keep every room immaculate. {I have lots of room, lots of kids, lots of hatred for forced tidiness}

I am in that torn paradox state of wanting so badly for someone to fall in love with our house and then promptly shell out a bunch of cash for it- and desperately hoping no one sets up an appointment to go through the house so I don't have to bloody clean all day!

Can't have it both ways I know.

My Eucharisteo {or gratitude} journal?

Have not scribbled a line, jotted a sentence, or pasted-in a photo in weeks.

And yet, I know, I KNOW, that when I write those three gifts each night in bed and then sleepily flip through past entries as eyes grow heavy:

My Contentment Goes Up

My Grumbling Goes Down.

Yet every evening, mind cramped with to-do lists, I straight out forget, or plain am not motivated.

Who forgets to make yourself happy?

Who is not motivated to be a nicer person?

Today, however, I was able to take a few swigs of creamy coffee. I enjoyed wheat toast with home made peach preserves.

That helps.

I build a toad house with the babe. Her pet toad she lost in the van two days was miraculously discovered and alive.

That made me happy.

A dear friend from far away, whom I have not spoken to in so long called, and we talked without interruption for an hour- miracle number two.

And while I have have been horribly neglectful of my journaling, I thumbed through the last few weeks of pictures, still sitting in my camera.

My visual Eucharisteo of sorts.

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The old fashioned charm of reading a good book in the back yard...

{see my review of this book: The Invention of Hugo Cabret in my left margin}

{my big girl trying out a new recipe with the help of a mac book and utube cooking video}

But...

she has on a home-made apron made from vintage fabric...so its Kosher

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playing hooky...yup, despite all my rules, I am one of those moms

fearless mountain climbers...

lovers of nature...

squashers of state funded landscaping...

This beautiful stone circle of wild violets, water fall and stone cliffs were enjoyed by us at Buttermilk Falls State Park in Ithaca, NY.

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So despite stress, gastric-bacteria, my being forced into being Cinderella {before she meets the fairy godmother of course}, and sleep deprivation; I look at all these good little things right here before me.

Tiny pleasure, pretty snippets, savory tidbits, quiet moments

Take a deep breathe and say "OK I can do it"

For, "No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us"

04/14/2012

"Oh no! She has officially lost it...taking pictures of an old beer can and old condom tins!"

But there is a story {there is always a story}

So don't put me on the prayer chain, or un-subscribe...yet.

Mr.MS was working in the dank recesses of our basement a few nights ago.

The water heater went, blew water all over the basement floor, which then brought to our attention that the whole thing was improperly installed to begin with (by previous owners)...which led to us smelling gas, which led to us having to shut off everything, open all the windows and leave for half day at seven in the morning...which led to him having to preform a complete re-do of the gas line days prior to having the first couple go through our home to buy.

I digress....

Back to tinned trojans.

While working in the dust, cobwebs, and muck, Mr. MS caught sight of an old brown paper sack tucked up in the old wooden rafters.

His heart skipped a beat.

"O sweet heavens tell me this is wad of cash. Maybe some silver coins?" passes through his mind instantly.

He slowly extracts, he tentatively opens the dusty bag, he holds his breath.

Moments later he relates the story to me and I throw my head back and laugh and laugh.

It was a rough night that desperately needed some laughing.

The triple X can of ancient beer was tucked up in there too, covered in cobwebs.

Nothing new under the sun.

We had a good time trying on different scenarios of the who's and circumstances of this little stash.

Nothing new under the sun.

The phrase stuck with me.

Turn this truism, tilt it, observe it from a different angle in life and it still won't lose its truth. I like that. I like the comfort of it. As much as I have grown to appreciate new pursuits, new stages of life, new ways to look at this world, some things always staying the same gives peace and warmth to weary souls in a weary world. Like pulling out that baggy sweater you've held on to since college every October, or singing the same songs come Palm Sunday and then the following Easter Sunday.

I think that is why I love Spring so much.

The Earth is waking up, there is newness everywhere, yet its the same smells, same vivid colors, same budding beauty I can count on. And that is the best of both worlds; comforting newness.

I am bone tired, weary, frazzled.

I confessed just a few moments ago:

"as pathetic as it sounds babe, I miss the boring routine of doing laundry on laundry day, grocery shopping on grocery day, and doing the bills and checkbook on payday".

All that has been cast to the wind, to be done is rushed little spurts of time these last two weeks. All clothes have been retrieved wrinkled from laundry baskets. Food bought in $40 quick trips. Utilities paid weeks late.

To keep my sanity I have been taking pictures.

Here is slew of them. My reminder of why I love the season of Spring, and these exhausting expensive little people so very much:

the crimson red that follows after the first wave of sunny yellow and verdant green of Spring

I can always count on, after the forsythias and daffodils start to lose their brilliance, the sanguine appearance of bright tulips, purple-red shoots of peonies, and blood red leaves on the brown twigs of my awakened rose bushes.

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A second year tradition. Want to make sure we take this picture and use this home made sign every year. So that this image will cement in the girl's mind on how this family celebrates and proclaims Easter

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Weeping petals, ancient boughs:

Every Spring I can count on my miniature weeping cheery tree to burst out soft and pink as a newborns cheek beneath the huge spreading boughs of the neighbor's nearby towering Oak. Taking this picture looking up at both is an amazing picture of soft contrast.

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Blue and Pink Carpets

Every year I can count on the fuzzy soft patches of capet to appear in grass and gardens.

Spreading phlox

forget-me-nots

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Every year I can count on the intense love/hate relationship of our garden hose and birds.

I love to see my girls playing in the hose

I hate when they sop their bodies in it in 50 degree weather.

They can always count on me yelling: "don't do that! you are going to get pneumonia!"

{in the history of kid- kind has there every actually been a child who has died of pneumonia as a result of playing in the garden hose? Probably not. But I bet I will exclaim that exact phrase at least one more time this year}.

I also love my happy little birds that live in chattering communities up in the trees all around our property. Every year when our feathered friends return I forget how much I miss their happy songs in the early morning.

But I hate that these guys POOP all over our deck and the furniture on the deck all year long. Its the same every year.

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Every year I can count on the mind- clearing and soul-lifting byproduct of doing hard work. I may be among a small percentage of woman who really, really like shoveling up dirt, wrestling out buried rocks, removing sod with only a shovel and sweat (no rota tiller for me). Something about it, the physical labor, the dirt and sweat, the stepping back and seeing what I have foraged: its really satisfying. It clears my head and I feel connected to the Earth as I work it and tame it.

I would have made a good farmer's wife.

I hope to be a hobby farmer's wife soon.

Recently I was telling my friend that "little ones" (under lets say eight years old) make better workers than "bigger kids". My little ones toiled and got sweaty right along with me as we three laid down a curvy brick path from some salvaged bricks I got for free last summer. We then filled the bare mud walkway with pea gravel. I have shared before that:I have a serious love for pea gravel .

Poor mans landscaping.

Victorian garden accent.

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Here is to the comfort of consistency.

Whether it be human beings drive for sex and alcohol no matter the decade, or sprouting spring bulbs, or the joy of physical labor.

I think I am the only person in the world who could possibly find common ground between those.

"I am not going to obsess about getting it all done on some pre-conceived date that I plucked out of the air, any more. I will stop being so controlling. It is out of my hands anyway, and always has been".

Its just that I want to move... to get out debt... so badly. To start living that next stage in the sticks, where surely life will be simpler and happier...right?

Yes and No.

No debt, no neighbors, no ugly thick telephone wires mutilating my photos of trees and sunrises, and in turn shadowy woods to explore, breezy fields to get tangled in, will improve our quality of life.

But life is life, no matter how pretty the view, or what the savings account balance reads.

These hands of mine hold a lot of responsibility.

They hold a lot joy.

But it is really not me holding it all.

The invisible tribune God do the real work. The cementing Spirit of purpose, peace, and joy.

Father

Son

Holy Ghost

And really isn't that so much better than some dripping roller in a clenched paint-flecked grip?

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(this is sadly not my picture...our palm branches never make it home from church; that is just asking for retinal damage! I snagged it from the blog kitchen floor diaries )

We love Palm Sunday in this household.

The girls, because they get to wave like mad all during worship, and if a poky leaf or two happens to make into their sister's eye...whose to say it wasn't an accident?

Mr MS, the drummer, loves it for the fun, very melodic Jewish sounding songs. Those songs build and build to a joyful frenzy with each verse. He gets to keep the cresting rhythm to each one while we sing along to all those traditional songs: Jehovah Jirah, King of Kings and others.

To me, those Palm Branches represent all the noble, sincere, seemingly Biblicly accurate desires the people had for Christ. They wanted a king. A king to solve their big problems in life. Oppressed for centuries- you can't blame them. But the Roman Empire breathing down their necks, making their life uncomfortable, reminding them of what it used to be like, blinded them to what He was really giving. He gave and still gives Grace. It was there two thousand years ago to a frenzied mob. It was there today to me as I yell and bang doors because I am so tired, and it is so overwhelming and hard.

This divine Person who did bizarre things, said things that seemed to make no sense, has seemed so removed from the reality of my life at times, is the most unfathomable in His constant love and grace and acceptance towards me.

So I hold the palm branch. Not waving it to some new sensation who will make my problems go away. But extending it high, more like a white flag of surrender: Save me. I don't want to live my life all wrapped up in ME anymore.

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Squeaky Clean.

I go back and forth with "doing Lent".

Did not this year.

However, starting April 1st this household went, once again, screen free. {Yes I know I am blogging and therefore in front of a screen.}

Part of the negative aspects of spending all your free time working on the house is that the TV/Wii/PC/Mac turn into the perfect free babysitter.

But Mama was right when she said: "aint nothing perfect or free in life"! {or was that "Mammy" from Gone With The Wind?}

Anyway.

Our house became a house of chaos.

A house of noise and meanness.

A house were every emotion possessed in the full spectrum of female feelings roared to be heard.

Without a word, a vote, or family decree I pulled the plug.

I allow very short stints on the computer, that do not include games...more communication or information. {thus creating the perfect blogging loophole...sometimes its good to be The Mama}

This pulling the plug had an almost cleansing effect on our home. Within one day.

The two "middlers" daughter number two and three, started for the first time playing together. Really well. Before, their only communication was in the form of insults, rude body language, and quick flicks to each others head's when they thought I was not noticing.

They are reading a lot. Even when I don't tell them too.

Hobbies and crafts that I was forever "suggesting" they do, instead of watching TV, are being picked up and enjoyed again.

Mr.MS shocked me when he told me he wanted to master playing Fur Elise on the piano. He took lessons for years and the last summer he played, at about eleven, he was assigned to "practice this slowly". He never did. Now our own daughter, who has been taking lessons for years is trying her hand at this most hauntingly beautiful piece. So Daddy and her are gonna tackle it together. They are using the original sheet music his piano teacher bought him...pencil marks and notes and all...that Summer long ago. Very sweet. Very full circle and satisfying.

It is inexpressible the difference between the sounds of Fur Elise wrapping its way around the house versus the latest auto-tuned guitar cranked tweener TV theme song...{complete with horrendous laugh track every 6.5 seconds, of course}.

A fresh and clean, more slow and purposeful start to this Holy Week of Easter. This month of newness coming to the Earth. It has a Lent feel to it.

Like a soak in a claw foot bath.

Simple and real, but with very real dirt still in the murky water.

But that washcloth is always there for us to hold. He makes us clean, making us new, helping us to be humble with our family when we fail them. Helping us to see the blessings, the good stuff, in a scuffed up, fallen world.

And it brings joy. Even if it is a water droplet at a time: I'll take it.